


White Room

by thegraceofdestiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: DeanCas - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-26
Updated: 2013-10-25
Packaged: 2017-12-30 11:56:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1018313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegraceofdestiel/pseuds/thegraceofdestiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>" “So,” She took a long swig of her beer. “You seen that new pretty boy hangin’ around?”</p><p>Dean raised an eyebrow, suddenly interested in what Meg Masters had to say to him. Meg knew, and smirked.</p><p>“Over there,” Meg pointed to the ill-lit corner of the bar. </p><p>Dean’s eyes gazed over to him. Pretty boy, indeed, Dean thought. "<br/>---<br/>Dean Winchester meets Castiel Novak in the only bar in town, The Station. The two both carry a heavy weight that seems to come along with being a caring older brother with a sick younger brother or sister. The two can't help falling in love, but neither will let that love get in the way of the love they have for their siblings, and it will eventually rip them apart from each other, and rip them apart from reality.<br/>---<br/>human!verse. deancas/destiel. Entire fic was inspired by Cream's album: Wheels of Fire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	White Room

Chapter 1: The Station

 

In a town in the middle of nowhere, somewhere in Kansas, there was a bar known as _The Station._

The Station, in its entirety, was the largest building in town, and where anyone old enough to drive went. ID’s were moot. So for a kid like Dean Winchester, The Station was where he always went ever since he was 16.

Everyone in town knew Dean Winchester. _Everyone._ Whispers intertwined with his cigarette smoke and followed Dean everywhere he went. It seemed like every day there was a new rumor there, to unfold itself in Dean’s ears. Some of them were true, and some of them made him laugh. He never let them bother him, though. People were positive that Dean was homosexual, or at least bi-sexual. Dean didn't think either, One, because he didn't like labels, and Two, one time he met a stripper who had tits and a dick, and he was pretty sure he fell in love. 

A smile just like his mother’s played on his lips as he lit a cigarette, and his eyes narrowed with wrinkles surrounding them as he laughed. People wondered how someone as troubled as Dean Winchester could smile. Let alone laugh.

There was only one reason, really.

_Sammy._

Whenever Dean wasn’t at The Station, he was at home with Sam Winchester, his little brother. He was only 19 years old and had been diagnosed with Paranoid Schizophrenia only a few months before his 19th birthday. Sammy had good days, where he smiled and talked a lot, sometimes to Dean, and sometimes not to Dean; and other days, well, they were not as good. But today had been a good day, and Sam was with Charlie tonight at the movies.

Dean’s eyes scanned the smoke filled bar, giving a quick smile and wink to Jo, the bar tender. Looking over towards the door, he saw Meg walking to sit with him. Tired, burnt-out, sullen looking as always, she crashed into the chair across from him.

“Meg Masters, to what do I owe the displeasure?” Dean chuckled.

“Oh, c’mon pretty boy,” Meg cooed. “You know you love me.”

Dean shrugged. “True. You’re the closest thing I got to a best friend in this town.”

Meg half-smiled, and a beer was placed in front of her by waitress. She reached for it.

“So,” She took a long swig of her beer. “You seen that _new_ pretty boy hangin’ around?”

Dean raised an eyebrow, suddenly interested in what Meg Masters had to say to him. Meg knew, and smirked.

“Over there,” Meg pointed to the ill-lit corner of the bar.

Dean’s eyes gazed over to him. Pretty boy, indeed, Dean thought. Dark, disheveled hair that made him look like he just got done getting fucked. Blue eyes with a sparkle that could be seen, crystal clear, even in a poorly lit setting. His lips were full, but chapped and set in a frown. He had dark circles under his pretty blue eyes, but Dean thought that maybe it was just the shadow from his pretty, long eyelashes. His strong jaw-line was covered in stubble and his skin was tan and smooth looking, and even though he wore a few layers over, Dean could tell that his body was toned and fit.

Dean felt a little sad as he saw how desperately the pretty boy clung to a bottle of whisky, with a clutter of empty Marlboro packs and shot glasses surrounding his arms, which rested on the table.

“You know his name at all?” Dean asked Meg.

“I think it might be Clarence, but I could be wrong. I _know_ it starts with a C.”

Dean’s nose wrinkled. He certainly hoped it wasn’t Clarence. It didn’t suit such a pretty face.

“Where’s he from?”

“Other than heaven? Not sure, you should go find out.” Meg said.

Dean smirked and gathered his lighter, smokes, and beer and slid over to the pretty boy whose name started with ‘C’.

“Hi,” Dean began. “Is, uh, this seat taken?”

Pretty Boy whose name started with ‘C’ looked up at Dean with sad, lost, broken blue eyes.

“No.” He replied quietly.

Dean sat down. “I couldn’t help but notice how sad you looked. No one as cute as you is sad on _my_ watch.”

“Your flirtations are a nice thought, but I’m not really in the mood right now. I’m sorry.” Pretty Boy replied. Dean felt a shiver upon hearing his voice for the first time. Deep, rough, and breathy. Like Dean's favorite kind of Sex.

“Whoa whoa there, tiger; slow down. I’m just making conversation.” Dean chuckled.

For a moment, Dean almost felt uncomfortable as Pretty Boy’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Dean carefully, studying him. Pretty Boy tilted his head, like a sad, curious looking puppy, and Dean unknowingly had a giant smile on his face.

“My name is Castiel Novak.” Pretty Boy finally said, cracking under the pressure of the stranger's beautiful green eyes, and his pearly white smile.

“That’s way better than Clarence.” Dean accidentally blurted out. Castiel looked confused, and Dean waved his hand dismissively. “Dean Winchester. Nice to meet you, Castiel.”

“It’s nice to meet you too, Dean.” Castiel replied, shakily pouring another shot.

“So what’s with the heavy drinking?” Dean asked, leaning back in the chair and lighting another cigarette. If Castiel hadn't been so depressed and intoxicated, he would have been swooning over Dean, but Castiel just couldn't think about a handsome stranger in a bar. Circumstances were never in Castiel's favor.

Castiel swallowed hard and winced. “On a bender.” Was his simple, grunt of a reply. 

“Which meaning of bender would that be? The drinking binge, or a gay guy?” Dean chuckled.

“I didn’t know there was more than one meaning. Perhaps both.” Castiel shrugged. “I don’t really care.”

Dean smiled. “Then what’s with the bender, huh? Got problems, just drinking for the hell of it? What’s the deal?”

Castiel frowned. “Rachel.”

“Rachel?” Dean’s brow furrowed.

“My little sister.” Castiel reassured Dean without knowing he reassured him.

“Why are you drinking over your little sister?”

“She’s very sick. Our family can’t do anything to help her.” Castiel sighed.

“And she’s sick as in?...” Dean asked curiously.

“She has a brain tumor. We have the money to get her treatment, but the stupid hippie she is, she refuses Chemotherapy. She doesn’t want to be cured by chemical radiation, so she says, so the doctor prescribed medical marijuana, but I’m terrified it won’t help.” Castiel suddenly found himself pouring his heart out to some guy at the bar, but he didn’t care. “She’s only 16.”

“You know, studies have showed that 7 out of 10 cancer patients are killed from chemotherapy, and 7 out of 10 cancer patients recover fully when they smoke weed.” Dean said.

“Really?” Castiel’s eyes lit up.

“Yeah, government just doesn’t want anyone to know.” Dean joked with a wink. “But you know, Cas, it’s probably not a good idea to be drinking so much when your sister’s got cancer. You need a ride somewhere?”

Castiel sighed. “Not quite yet. I would enjoy a cigarette, maybe get some fresh air.”

“I’m your man,” Dean winked.

Castiel managed to smile, and Dean helped him up. The two walked together towards the door, Dean looking back to Meg, giving her a wink.

Dean led Castiel to Baby, Dean’s beloved Impala. He helped him sit on the hood, and handed him a cigarette. Castiel looked at Dean’s brand of choosing in disapproval.

“ _Sonoma.”_ Castiel hissed.

“They suck, right? But hey, when you’re poor…” Dean chuckled.

Castiel sat thoughtfully for a moment, too drunk to notice the awful, stale taste of the cigarette smoke that floated into his lungs.

“How old are you?” Castiel asked Dean.

“Twenty-Six years too old.” Dean replied. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-Four years _way_ too old.” Castiel said, even though he and Dean shared a 2 year age gap.

Dean chuckled heartily. “So what’s your story, Cas? Not just Rachel and the cancer, or the bender. Who are you? What do you do? Where you from?”

Castiel thought about his own life for a moment, what to tell Dean, and what not to tell Dean. “I’m a little more curious about your life.”

Dean laughed. “I asked you first.”

“I don’t care.”

That made Dean laugh even harder. “Fine then, dick. I live with my brother, Sam. He’s got schizophrenia, but he’s an awesome kid. He has lots of good days, and he’s happy with his life. He’s even got himself a girl, Jess, if you can believe it, and she just loves him.”

“That’s just telling me about Sam. I wanted to know about your life.” Castiel argued.

“Well, Sammy is my life.” Dean replied.

Castiel blinked a few times, and nodded. “Funny how little siblings do that to you, huh?”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed.

“I guess Rachel means as much to me as she does because she’s the only one in the family who _truly_ accepts me for who I am.”

“Gay?”

“Yeah.” Cas replied. “You?”

“I wouldn’t say gay. If you’re hot I’ll want to fuck you.” Dean laughed. “But more often, I find men hot. Maybe Bi, I don’t know, and I don’t really care.”

Castiel chuckled. “We just moved to town a couple of weeks ago. The hospital where Rachel gets her stuff done is a town, well city over. Rachel doesn’t like cities, so we moved as close as we could where she’d be comfortable.”

“Are you her only sibling?” Dean asked.

“No. We have three older brothers, Michael, Gabriel, and Balthazar.” Castiel replied, sighing smoke as he thought of them.

“Weird names, huh? Michael, Gabriel and Rachel are the only normal ones I’ve heard so far.” Dean chuckled.

“Michael and Gabriel were our mother’s and her first husband’s sons. He was a priest. Charles, and everyone called him Chuck. One day he just disappeared, leaving mom with two sons. She got remarried, though, to Balthazar, Rachel and I’s father. He’s a little more free spirited, which is why Rachel is the way she is. They’re lovers of everyone and everything, and that’s what makes them so special.” Cas smiled.

“But why does Rachel have such-“

“A normal name? She doesn’t. Rachel is her middle name, and just what she prefers. It was our grandmother’s name.” Castiel chuckled.

“What’s her first name?” Dean asked.

“You’ll have to ask her when you meet her. I’m not allowed to say.” Castiel smiled at him, blowing the smoke from the last drag he had left in Dean’s face, flicking the butte away. “It’s her favorite secret. Only people she cares about may know her ‘true identity’ as she says,”

Dean smiled at Castiel's implication that he would in fact meet Rachel and see Cas again. Flicking his own cigarette, he stood up. “So, where to Cas?”

“Home, I guess.” He sighed. “Rachel is probably asleep by now, so I can just sleep too.”

“I take it you share a room?” Dean asked, opening the passenger side door for him.

“Against her will. Although it smells like weed, perfume, and trail mix constantly, I prefer to keep a watchful eye over my sister. She’d never admit it, but it helps her sleep better just as much as it does me.” Castiel explained.

They both got in the car.

“You’re really scared of losing her.” It wasn’t a question.

“I am. Absolutely terrified. It isn’t fair, Dean. She’s so beautiful. So happy… and so… so _kind_. Why did something like this have to happen to _her_? She’s funny, she’s sweet, and she’s so _loving_ … How will I be okay if she ever…”

The happiness Dean brought Castiel faded away now, as he thought about Rachel again. It made him want to go straight back into the bar and keep drinking until he got kicked out.

“Hey, hey. Don’t think like that. Always look at the positive side of things,” Dean began as he started the car up. “Like with Sammy, he has good days and bad days, but the good days always outweigh the bad, you know? I have a sense of hope he’s always getting better. If you spend all your time moping, and then if the day comes around when you do lose her, you’ll have no happy memories of her time with you. Do you understand, Cas?”

Castiel nodded slowly. “You are right.”

“But it’s still hard, believe me, I know. When Sammy has bad days, and he starts to hear the bad voices, and see the bad things and bad people, and he gets scared, violent, and says hurtful stuff, I want to go drink everything away. But when he does, I don’t drink. I stay with him. And when Sammy has good days, I go out for a drink to celebrate. So when Rachel has a bad day, stay with her all night. Read her books, make up stupid stories, tell her lame jokes and deliver them in bad voices, sing to her even if you suck, and you know what, smoke a little bud with her; When she has a really good day, hang out with her, do what you guys normally do. Still smoke a little bud with her. Then, when she goes to bed, come meet me at the station for a drink.”

Castiel listened to each word thoughtfully, smiling wider and wider with each suggestion Dean made.

“and You’ll help me?” Castiel asked. “I haven’t smiled like this since Rachel was diagnosed.”

“Of course.”

**Author's Note:**

> horrible? okay? tolerable? you be the judge. by the way, it was really awkward for me to write in Rachel as Castiel's sister because my name is Rachel too and it was just so so so odd. okay. i'm done.
> 
> \- rachel


End file.
